


The Light to the Darkness

by FlourishBelle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:17:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlourishBelle/pseuds/FlourishBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are moments when Sherlock is forced to see the light that John Watson gives to him, and realizes how lost he'd be without it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light to the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was really tempted to call this once 'Eclipse' but...urgh, connotations. Ahh, well. My first Sherlock and John! Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day! May your roses be red, your chocolates be sweet, and your love be plentiful! <3

The lights above the kitchen table burned out.

It happened one afternoon as Sherlock sat, meditative at his microscope, analyzing some fibers for a case. He didn’t even bat an eye as the fluorescent lights hummed and subsequently blinked out. Almost a half an hour later, not moving from his microscope he yelled.

“John!” Silence echoed through the apartment. “John. The light’s out!” He seemed to selectively forget, yet again, that John wasn’t home and also wasn’t currently talking to him. He was out at Tesco, picking up the groceries that Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to. They’d had a row about a client who insisted that his caretaker was poisoning him. The man was dying and Sherlock refused the case on the grounds that it was too easily solved. John, of course, felt differently.

When it finally got dark outside, he worked by the light of the lamps in the living room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard John’s key in the door, his boots on the stairs and the grunts that came from lugging bags up.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Nothing. “Sherlock.” He was still wrapped up in his experiment, so John came around the side of the table.

“You are standing in my light.”

“I don’t care. I asked you a question.” There was a silent standoff between them as they locked eyes.

The lights burned out. I told you.” Sherlock answered, deadpan and defiant. His jaw tensed. Instead of puffing up and arguing back, John spoke in a whisper now, placing a hand on the counter, and one on the back of Sherlock’s chair.

“We have to help him, Sherlock. We have to. He’s dying.” The fire in his eyes was no less strong. Sherlock remembered and recognized the undeniable and unbreakable strength in this man, as he was forced to from time to time. For all of his stubbornness, John had an unshakable moral compass that he had to respect. There was also no mistaking the metaphor in the situation. Without John, in his absence for the sake of anger, he was in the dark. It was only when he returned that Sherlock was able to function fully once again. In his own way, Sherlock bowed to the power that hummed beneath John’s skin. His light.

“We will.” He says, “We will help him.”

“Thank you.” John hesitates before he starts moving away, something sitting heavily between them. That certain something is probably what prompted Sherlock to grab the front of John’s jumper before he gets too far. He pulls him into a kiss that is comforting, reassuring, and thankful all at once.


End file.
